Freshman Year
Music in the background, blade in hand.
Have you ever felt so lost, forgotten? I have. Ever felt like people could just simply forget you in a heartbeat, as if they don't really care? I have. Ever felt the urge to make your ability of taking your own life a reality? At the moment, I am right now.
"This one's for the lonely." I grimaced, tracing the old scars with the blade, breaking the skin deeper than the first.
I winced in pain, but pain is such a beautiful thing, right? More beautiful than scraping your knee by accident when you were five. More beautiful than getting a bruise by playing volleyball in high school. Because pain is only beautiful when it's on purpose.
"For my self confidence." I ignored the throbbing of the other cuts closest to my hand, while digging even deeper into the thin skin of my delicate wrist.
The sweet aroma of my own blood cascaded up to my nostrils.
"And this one's for the people." I carelessly dragged the blade across, deeper, and deeper, until I possibly couldn't anymore.
Tears streamed down my face, as the blood flowed down my arm, and into the palm of my hand.
"Nicole, open up." my mother commanded, banging on the door.
I practically threw myself at the counter. I opened the cabinet and searched for gauzes. I pulled out the wrapping material and wrapped it around my cuts. I then pulled down the sleeves of my sweatshirt and put the blade up.
"Nicole. I'm not kidding, unlock the door!"
I groaned, then opened the door, after unlocking it. She walked in.
There stood my mother. Her bright green eyes had turned to grey. Her blond hair, aging. Wrinkles began to form on the dark circles under her eyes. She looked worn.
"Nicole, are you cutting again?" she sighed.
"N-no..." I trailed off.
She snatched my right arm and pulled my sleeve up. Scars.
She snatched the other arm and did the same.
The gauzes had turned a bright red, indicating the blood was absorbed.
"Nicole, you're going to a mental institution. You need help." my mother grasped her head in her hands.
"What? I'm not mental, mom!"
"Then stop cutting, Nicole. It's not helping you get any stronger. It's making you weaker." she looked confident at her own words, but I wasn't buying it.
"I can't just ''stop''. It's not that simple. You don't even know the kind of physical and mental pain and breakdowns I have to constantly go through.''
"Then why wont you ever tell me, so I will understand?" her pale face turned a dark shade red.
I just gave a deadpan look to her, as I always do.
"Yeah, you're going to that institution." she threw her hands up in defeat and left the bathrooom.
Even my mom, my blood, doesn't even care for me.
***
"You're a fag."
"It got uglier over the summer."
"Go die."
"I heard, she's suicidal."
I walked through the halls of the hell hole.
